Dear George
by dervishandbanges
Summary: Fred - who is dead - writes a letter to his brother. From Heaven. With love.


**A/N.**_ So, yeah, I guess that's it... I never really wrote anything in English except for this lil Glee thingy and school essays ("Bellatrix Lestrange and her adventure with Nessie - part 17"). And it's not much. I'm not feeling like much anyway. xd _

_So, if you notice any mistakes, and I mean grammar or punctuation or things, please point it out. I was trying. I need to wake up and strangely, I was awake all night. _

_Thanks for bothering to look anyway. Love. :)_

* * *

><p>Dear George,<p>

Actually, you aren't the only person here writing letters to people who would never have a chance to read them. Apparently, Sirius gave me the idea several sunsets ago. He said I could start a diary, too, Sirius seems a little funny since he got here, if you know what I mean. He's real sentimental and he cries quite a lot. His hair is quite long and he resembles Hagrid, he's just a bit smaller. He was desperately looking for his old friends, I think he still is, haven't seen him in a while.

Yeah, I read your letter, the one you left under your bed. You shouldn't be embarrassed (says Dumbledore, peeking over my shoulder). I hope you're not that frustrated anymore, I mean it can take a while to get over it, but after a month or so you should be quite alright. I don't know how much time has passed since I died, but can't be more than three months, I think, Tonks thinks half a year, Dumbledore says five years, Sirius says a week. But Sirius is nuts right now. Still, I think I haven't been stuck here for that long as five years.

Don't know about you, but we're having quite a good time here – Tonks and I threw a huge party when we met Dumbledore, gives you his best, his beard is longer than ever and he drinks too much tea, but it's still Dumbledore, always cool when he's around. Oh, and I met our great-great-great-grandfather. He can't remember his own name and half of his teeth are mysteriously gone, but he's real fun and he likes to randomly sing "O Come All Ye Faithful". Wish you knew him too. Wish you were here. It's kinda cool after all, with all these people.

Well, not so cool. I thought a lot recently, I thought about you, and I found myself really selfish when I thought how awful it must be to look in the mirror and see the face of somebody who is _dead. _It's also awful to tell all the people here "I used to have a brother" or "I had a brother" or "I _have _a brother down there". I couldn't speak during the first week. I saw my hands and my feet and I run fingers through my hair knowing it's like _you _did it. I used to have a brother. Don't say that, kinda depressing. I bet Ron and Bill and Charlie and everyone – Ginny especially – would find it particularly nasty of me, you know, talking about _one _brother – about one _brother _– not mentioning the rest of the family. And there's a girl from school that I didn't really recognize, but she greeted me with a "Hello, George" and she went away smiling in an odd way, um, this was real sad too. I wouldn't like to be you at the moment, if you possibly miss me as much as I do miss you.

I miss you like hell, George.

Not that I wish you were here.

But it wouldn't be _that _bad if we were together again.

Merlin's beard, I sound sick, don't I.

I feel sick, to be honest (I am honest with you, as I was _always _honest with you, and it would make no sense to lie as you never get a chance to read this thing). I know that in some amount of time – and here time is kinda quicker then down there – I'm gonna meet you, but it wouldn't be the same you and the same me. And don't cry like Sirius does, if you miss me by any chance. I would be damn pleased to hear this – that you miss me, that anyone does, I mean I may have been kinda cruel to some people but come on, I think they had forgiven me already? – but Sirius weeps like mad, that there are so many things Harry should know and he would never know them just because he didn't listen to Snivellus – Snape – and didn't stay at home at that faithful day… oh, tell him (Harry) about that, I think he should know. Sirius says he'd been a terrible godfather, and he left Harry in a particularly bad moment, he must be so lonely – oho, Sirius just came – he asks if Harry is married by now.

It doesn't hurt, you know. Dying. Just if you were interested. You don't really expect it, it's like there was a couple of things you needed to do tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and if you died then no one would buy these damned tomatoes. You know, trivial things. Sirius still weeping. It didn't hurt him, too. It never hurts. Not that I have a lot of experience.

So yeah, if you're not really afraid of stopping being there and starting being there, you won't really feel anything. And when you come here – I know you will, everyone will, and sometimes I'm being bloody selfish and I hope you die as soon as possible so we can meet, and after a moment I realize I'm not really wishing you a nice fate, right? – so when you come here, you gotta tell me everything that happened, and we're gonna throw a nice big party for your arrival. Sorry about the wet parchment. Not my tears. Sirius's. Not tears in the first place, I think it's bogey.

Not that I want you to die too quickly. It's _not _a better world. There's no time, no space, no walls, and sometimes there's just whiteness. You wouldn't like it here. But at times it behaves like the Room of Requirement and it's really cool, and Tonks is here, and— sorry, I was going to finish the sentence properly, but Sirius just gave a random and unexpected shriek. He should be taken somewhere AWAY, even Dumbledore can't stand him sometimes. And there were other old boring guys that came here, real angry, and told us to make him shut up. Sometimes, they added another word between "shut" and "up", but I think we still have enough decency not to mention such rubbish. It's real bad language the medieval guys are using, and there's one pretty blonde princess that keeps being unhappy and you need to comfort her in every possible way. I mean _every possible way_. She likes the ancient Roman kind of entertainment, gladiators and all. I've never met Julius Caesar, he's somewhere far, but Dumbledore has met him and he says Caesar reckons this girl went nuts, no one is going to kill each other being already dead. And there's one nutter that reminds me of sir Cadogan. Won't be surprised if it _is _sir Cadogan. He likes to run around with a sword and make everyone fight him. The princess fancies him. Fancying a dead mad knight is weird, isn't it? Please say it is.

I feel it's Christmas coming, so please remind mum about my portion of mince pies and a Weasley jumper. It gets kinda cold at night, so I wouldn't mind an extra thick one. Merlin, I'm being stupid. It's easy to forget you're dead. At times. Oho, Lupin and James Potter are now coming round with a box of handkerchiefs for Sirius. Strangely enough, the Potter man doesn't seem to be sobbing and wailing and screaming random things like "IT'S MY BLOODY FAULT" at whoever approaches. 'Cause that's what Sirius does practically all the time. He's insane.

They took Sirius away so I can write in some nice silence, but it's bloody cold in here (Christmas, right?) and it's getting dark. Funny enough we've got day and night here.

How are Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes doing? Number ninety-three Diagon Alley, right? I really hope the business is going okay without me (although, knowing how marvellous I am, I seriously doubt that). Also, if you haven't figured that out yet, I have left some brilliant instructions for the Lips Pursed potion, it's somewhere in the office, probably the drawer labelled "Fred's Old Lethal Stuff", it would be really nice if it got on sale, I created it myself in our sixth year but I never told you since there was one tricky ingredient I couldn't sneak from Snape's.

Give my best to everyone. And it really sucks up here without you, you know that.

Yours, Fred x

PS Er... yeah. I love you.

_The thirty-two year old George Weasley opened the shop's door about two hours before he would flick the "Closed" sign to "Open" and see a hot sweaty swarm of customers flow into the joke shop. That early, there was absolutely nobody strolling down Diagon Alley, but George liked being alone. So he did all the usual things, meaning drinking like two litres of coffee to stop the sleepiness, meaning cleaning the mess in the office and meaning sighing like a eighty-year-old about thrice a minute. The day before he actually discovered a pair of long wrinkle on his forehead – deep ones – that wouldn't go away no matter what funny or grave face he would make. He felt old. _

_So finishing the usual stuff he sat on a chair and drank another cup of coffee and hid his face in his hands. He could hear his pulse beating fast in his head like he just finished a long run._

_And then he discovered the envelope under his elbow._

_And then he discovered it was addressed to him._


End file.
